


She Called Him Dandelion

by SugarTwinkPelle



Series: Pelledir Sibil Lavellan Origins [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Backstory, Dalish Elves, Desire Demons (Dragon Age), Dragon Age II Spoilers, F/M, Free Marches (Dragon Age), M/M, Origin Story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-05
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2019-11-12 12:29:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18010919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SugarTwinkPelle/pseuds/SugarTwinkPelle
Summary: Part 1 of a long backstory fanfiction for Inquisitor Pelledir Sibil LavellanThis fic takes place during the years 9:33 Dragon to 9:38 DragonSubcontext of Dragon Age 2 present, some spoilers may applyThe fic is split between two OCs Pelle Sibil and the Keeper's granddaughter Aela Lavellan





	1. Prologue

**Pelle  
9:38 Dragon**

This is not a love story...  
It is a cautionary tale.  
A tale that you would be wise to heed of its warnings.

It is too late for me.  
I have already seen what cannot be undone  
Taken what cannot be returned  
Done what cannot be undone  
Told lies that no shred of truth could make right

However,  
The truth you are about to hear might instead save others who were once like me.  
Reduce the number of victims, spare the ever impressionable young.

And so I beg of you  
Do not be inspired  
Be warned  
Magic is dangerous  
People are dangerous  
And these two truths no power in this world can ever change.


	2. Pelle

Pelle  
9:33 Dragon

It was dead.  
Grotesque, mangled, smelly...dead. 

It was a bird once before it had been snapped by a mouse trap. It was sad really. Pelle never approved of killing mice who crept into their food supply, or any animal for that matter Thank Mythal he had been born a mage and not a hunter, he feared neither his heart (nor his stomach) could stand to take an animal’s life. Too much empathy, that’s what the clan’s battle master, Assan, would say. 

He felt queasy just looking at the poor thing, no animal’s body should look the way that bird did: caught by the neck, bones crushed, expression still unsuspecting of what had killed it. He needed to get rid of it, the trap had done its job, but it had taken a victim rather than a culprit. 

“Well, at least we know it works.” Aela quipped in reference to the trap. 

A fake laugh was what Pelle offered his friend. He found nothing funny about her remark. In fact, he thought it in poor taste that she could even joke about this. Innocent life, wasted just because it wanted a place to perch for a few moments.  
Aela was quick to recognize his distaste in Pelle’s humorless chuckle, seemed she’d forgotten he tended to take things like this a little more serious than her fellow hunters did. 

“This bird’s got some mighty bad luck don’t you think? Landing in a trap that.” Asked Aela.  
“I think it’s like a sad poem .” Said Pelle. “A creature of the sky being slaughtered on land.” 

Aela didn’t understand, Pelle was glad she didn’t pretend to. She’d never read a poem, she’d never read anything. She did not know that poem’s had a way of using situations like this to allude to how ugly the world could be, hold a mirror to little tragedies like this. Aela was illiterate, as most hunters in their clan were. She didn’t try to relate to his poems, instead of like she often did when she needed to keep a conversation going, changed the subject. 

“You sure you can’t just heal it?” she followed up.  
Pelle shook his head. “I’m not a necromancer. Besides, even if I was it wouldn’t really be alive, just undead. That’s not better.”

Aela didn’t answer nor did she offer any more suggestions. Instead, she quietly removed the bird from the mousetrap and took the dead animal into her hands. She held it’s corpse out to Pelle to show him but he instantly turned away in disgust. 

“Please just get rid of it.” He begged. “The smell is making me sick!”  
Aela frowned, her expression deflating and she lowered her gloved hands. Pelle knew she hadn’t meant any harm, he was just easily unnerved by things like that. He could tend to injuries, heal minor wounds, and take care of sick clanmates, and yet dead animals made him very uncomfortable. He had no explanation of why. 

Aela did as he asked and took the animal away. He dared not watch her even though he knew she would not bring it any further harm. She was going to do what any hunter would when they encountered a small dead animal, bury it. She did this behind the aravel where they’d found the bird so that Pelle did not have to watch her. 

Pelle waited silently, he glanced inside the aravel at the stored food the trap was guarding. It was still disgusting that the trap had been meant for mice, he despised the contraption. What if the mice were just searching for provisions? It was harvest season, winter would soon be upon them and if living in the wild his entire life had taught him anything it was that winter wasn’t just hard for the Dalish. Everyone suffered. 

“There,” Aela announced from behind the aravel before she ventured back to Pelle’s side. “The earth will take good care of it.” She assured him.  
Pelle did not respond, he only shrugged his shoulders.  
Aela’s expression changed as if she knew there was something on his mind. Pelle’s brows furrowed watching her. She looked to be hesitating, making some sort of executive decision on her mind. Her lips pursed into a frown, and her hands twitched eagerly like two squirrels being held back from scrambling up a tree. Watching her made him feel anxious, what was she doing?

“Aela…?” He spoke quizzically. 

Then just like, the huntress snapped back to reality. Her seemingly twitchy hands stilled and she took in a deep breath. “Sorry...I just.” She paused to take a seat beside him before placing both of her hands on each of his arms. “Are you okay?” 

Pelle’s eyes fell suspiciously upon her hands. Not that Aela wasn’t allowed to touch him but usually...she did not. She was the Keeper’s granddaughter, they’d known each other for as long as Pelle could remember. Keeper Deshanna had adopted him twelve years ago when he was three years old and even though Aela had always been around, she often ignored him. When she did speak to him she had always been very short, taking little interest in anything he had to say. He’d never taken it personally, while her grandmother was a mage she was not. She cared little for magic talk or anything her grandmother took even the slightest interest in. There was always tension between them, he never asked why.

It was only in recent memory that Aela had been kinder to him. He suspected it was because she’d seen his birth father disown in front of everyone at the last clan gathering, but he had no proof to back that up. 

He shook off the confusion caused by the placement of her hands and turned back to her face. “It’s hard to explain” He began. “When I think about animals in traps...I picture them hurt, alone, crying for help except...no one can hear them. No one that cares anyway. It must be awful.” 

There was sympathy in Aela’s eyes, but Pelle knew she couldn’t relate. He knew it would be hard to explain this to someone who wasn’t a spirit healer. It wasn’t easy being so empathetic naturally, sometimes he felt like he was experiencing all the emotions of the forest all at once. It could be overwhelming at times. 

“I don’t expect you to understand Aela.” he offered so that she might not feel too guilty. “I’ve always had a special connection to nature, I guess I just see the world differently than most people.”

Once that was said he wriggled free from Aela’s grasp and slid off the aravel. “Don’t worry Aela, my discomfort will pass. I’ll just take a walk or read a book or somethin.” He promised before getting ready to wander off. 

“Pelle…?” Aela called after him. 

He turned back to face her raising a single eyebrow in question.  
“It’s not bad you know?” She spouted awkwardly. “The way you see things I mean. Don’t let Assan get you down, having a soft side doesn’t make you weak or nothin.”  
Pelle paused, a surprised look crossing his face before he offered a warm smile. “Thanks Aela.” He said before turning back around and going about his day.


	3. Darcy

Darcy 

9:33 Dragon

They were looking for rabbit traps.

Rabbit traps crafted and left behind by the blacksmith’s young son Talwinne Yevys. 

He’d been shadowing Darcy and the battle master’s eldest song, Durgen, ever since he’d been permitted to tag along with the marked hunters (those with vallaslin) on hunts. Typically Darcy preferred not to bring such young apprentices out on a real hunt. It was too much stress worrying that they might find trouble or try to get too bold and underestimate the dangers of the wild. Though such a thing had never happened on her watch, she wanted to play safe and ensure that things stayed that way. 

She could tolerate Talwinne’spresence because unlike many other young boys at fifteen years of age, he was talented beyond his years and followed instructions. It seemed having a blacksmith for a father did him more favors than being given a nice bow. The boy knew the weapons he carried like an old friend. He knew what made every curve, point, and feather important. He knew the difference between a dagger and a knife and why that difference mattered. And most of all, he knew how to handle a weapon in such a way that honored it’s potential. Aside from weapons, he was also good at tying knots, skinning beasts, and foraging. 

What he wasn’t so good at was remembering where he left his traps…  
Darcy had no doubt in her mind that Talwinne was going to make a great hunter someday, but everyone had their weaknesses. There was little wrong with the traps he made for the rabbits, but what good were they if he lost them? 

If the traps were found(hopefully with rabbits caught in them), she would offer him advice on keeping better track of things like this. She had little intention of venturing too far from the encampment because they’d brought her small cousin, Pelledir Sibil. Although he and Talwinne were the same age, Pelle was much smaller than Talwinne, his body was weak and not suitable for fighting should they run into any trouble. 

“I left them around here I swear it,” Talwinne claimed. “I know it.”  
“You think someone stole them?” Pelle suggested from atop of Darcy’s shoulders.  
Talwinne shrugged. “It's possible. Where else would they be?”  
“Don’t be silly,” Darcy added. “I’m sure nobody wants your scraggly traps Da’Len.”

Talwinne frowned. Much like his old man, he didn’t like it when people insulted his handiwork, even if it wasn’t up to par. “Maybe not my traps.” He agreed. “But they might want my rabbits hm?”  
Darcy scoffed. “You say that like they couldn’t just catch their own.”  
“Maybe they can’t,” Said Talwinne tossing the statement right back.  
“I don’t know how to catch rabbits,” Pelle added, jumping to his friend’s aid.  
Her cousin said that like it was something to be proud of. Mythal was she glad their battle master wasn’t around to hear that. She knew the young elf did not think anything of it (or at least she hadn't noticed), but he was growing too old to need others to protect him. It wouldn’t be long before he was a man himself. When that time came, his weakness would not only be frowned upon bit he would be a laughing stock to his people. 

“You’re a mage cousin, of course, you don’t know how to catch rabbits.” Darcy reminded him. 

“And not everyone who isn’t a mage can trap and skin them either or they wouldn’t trade with us would they?” Pelle argued. 

Darcy sighed. This was what she was asked to deal with, two young boys too clever for their own good who couldn't resist arguing a point. She didn’t know what was worse, the fact that they often begged to disagree or that they made plausible points. 

“Alright, if you’re so certain they were stolen then who do you think did it?” She asked.  
“Refugees?” Pelle suggested.  
“Qunari.” Talwinne said with a little more confidence than his friend.  
“Qunari?” Darcy had to laugh. “Really?”  
“Who else would it be?” Talwinne asked with a scowl. “Nobody’s been coming out of Kirkwall since all that talk about blood magic and unruly templars started spreadin, and nobody else has come through because they don’t want to be within ten paces of the Tal Vashoth.”  
The words Tal Vashoth caught Darcy’s attention. How did Talwinne know about them? She and the other hunters had worked hard to keep such words out of young ears. Best they didn’t create any more boogeymen for them, poachers and other wild beasts like the Vaterral were bad enough, 

“What’s Tal Vashoth?” Pelle asked. 

“They’re Qunari that ran away or were banished from the Qun. No good that lot, some of the hunters seen em. Said they were so violent they didn’t dare engage with em, might just have them for supper you know?” Talwinne explained. 

“Where did you hear about that?” Darcy demanded.

She would shut Talwinne up if she could, but once he’d put it out there was no shoving that fish back into the pond. But perhaps it wasn’t so bad if they knew, though young the two were both relatively mature young lads. She couldn’t really see either of them quaking in their bedrolls dreaming of being cooked in a stew. 

“Durgen told me,” Talwinne replied. “Said he and some of the boys saw em tear a ram to pieces.” 

 

“And you think those monsters felt compelled to steal your rabbits?” Darcy asked, just so that Talwinne might see how absolutely ridiculous he sounded. 

“I’m just saying it’s a possibility. My old man says you never eliminate a possibility.” 

Darcy gave a short nod. While she did not agree that Tal Vashoth would steal small animals from poorly crafted traps, his explanation was one she could respect. His father was right to warn him of shrugging off things that did not seem probable to him, the wild was full of improbable things. It was actually good sense for someone just starting their career to keep an open mind, it created room for instinct to grow. 

“I’m not surprised Durgen told you,” Said Darcy, changing the topic slightly. “He put in a good word for you to Assan, about officially joinin the hunters you know?”

The young hunter’s brows raised upon hearing this. “You don’t mean…”  
“Gettin your marks yes.” Darcy finished for him. “Some are impressed with you. I don’t know all the details but they talked to your parents, Deshanna too I believe.” 

Talwinne paused a small grin threatening to creep in. Darcy didn’t blame him, it was normal for a young elf to feel a bit of excitement before entering their test to get their marks. Most of them didn’t start to feel the weight of the task ahead of them until it was happening. If Talwinne was like any other young boy his age, he would endure the same.  
“They really think I can do it?” Talwinne asked, a shy but hopeful grin on his face. 

“You disagree?” Darcy responded. 

Talwinne wasn’t quick to leap to his own defense, Darcy appreciated that. She hoped this meant he wasn’t going to let the suggestion get to his head. He was quite young to be considered to get his marks, most wouldn’t receive such an opportunity for another three years. She wondered was that the cause of his silence, where most boys would take it as a compliment, Talwinne seemed more surprised than anything. 

The silence between the three lasted for several more minutes before Pelle decided enough was enough. “I’m not surprised.” He commented. “You’re just as good as all of em hunters out there with their marks. You’ve already joined them plenty times, why not as an official hunter--not just an apprentice yeah?” 

Talwinne heard Pelle, even if he seemed to be ignoring him. What Talwinne needed wasn’t biased compliments paid by a dear friend. Darcy knew that as much as Talwinne loved Pelle, his opinion on the matter meant nothing. He was a young mage whose body was not bred to withstand the hunt. He’d never shot a bow, skinned an anime let alone killed one. Anyone with redeemable skill would seem talented to Pelle under the pretense that they could do everything he could not. Talwinne did not need that kind of reassurance. 

He needed it from someone who knew the hunt. Someone like Darcy or Assan. Darcy would be honest with him because they both knew pleasing Assan was no simple task. He was a straight as an arrow with his methods--much like his name suggested. He could capture any beast, slay any human who threatened his people and managed both his hunters and their apprentices with a strong vision that had earned him the respect of the others. No one challenged him nor questioned his experience, you’d have to be a fool to even try. 

“Not to fan your ego, but my cousin’s got a point,” Darcy added. “You’ve been out there with me, Durgen, and the others many times now. You’re practically one of the pack in all but marks.” 

Talwinne sighed. “I’ve never been out alone though…”  
To this Darcy offered an understanding nod. “I won’t lie to ya and tell ya it’s not so bad. The test is tough. Most boys think they’re going to leave and be back before nightfall but that’s not how it goes. There’s a lot more than just rabbits out there. You’ll be done days, weeks maybe. There’s humans, bears, and most recently qunari.”  
The young hunter looked uneasy, an appropriate response she thought.  
“I’ll offer you the same advice I offer all our young ones, don’t try to show off,” she continued. “Assan just wants you to prove that you know how to strategize, make the best use of your strengths, and ultimately provide for the clan using what you’ve learned. You don’t have to bring back a great bear or nothin, even a wolf or a ram would be acceptable.”  
“...and what happens if he can’t?” Asked Pelle from atop of Darcy, his tone sounding just as concerned for his friend as Talwinne was for himself.  
“If he doesn’t turn up in two weeks we’ll send out a search party. If he isn’t up to the task and we find him alive, he'll return home with us. However, in most cases, if a young apprentice doesn’t turn up it’s because they’re dead.” Darcy answered.

Her answer brought a dull silence over the three of them once again. She could feel there was an air of doom looming over the two boys. She didn’t blame them, death was often difficult to speak to the young about. 

“You are welcome to decline the test.” She felt it necessary to add. “After all, it is ultimately the apprentice’s decision to undergo his trial, no one else’s. It’s his life he puts on the line, and so it is his choice to make.” 

“If Assan and my parents think I’m ready, I won’t cower behind my mother’s skirts.” Said Talwinne. “But Darcy...tell me truthfully. You think I can do it?”  
“I think you should find your rabbit traps.” She grinned. “Then we’ll talk.”


	4. Pelle

Pelle

9:33 Dragon 

 

Pelle wasn’t very fond of the idea of Talwinne being tested for his marks. He and Pelle were the same age, both fifteen. It seemed outrageous that Assan would even suggest that Talwinne was ready to take on a beast by himself. He may have been supportive to Talwinne’s face, but the idea of him leaving the clan alone for days on end hoping that he had the finesse and the instinct not to become the prey left Pelle feeling an ungodly sense of dread. Though he knew his feelings regarding the matter were selfish in nature, he felt it only sensible that he worry about his friend’s well being. 

Talwinne had been taught to fire his bow when he was eleven years old. He was trained by his father to do so, and it was his father who was with him when he made his first kill. After that, he studied under Assan who was far stricter than his father. He put Talwinne and many of the other young boys through various exercises, sparrings, trappings, and really threw them out into the world to learn their craft. Talwinne had been permitted to join the hunters when he was fourteen under the pretense that he was one of the top performing apprentices. He shadowed Pelle’s cousin Darcy and Assan’s eldest son Durgen ever since. 

He didn’t know if he was in the right to judge whether or not he believed Talwinne could complete the task ahead of him, even he had noticed the way that his friend had brushed off his compliment like they were empty words...which they were. 

The whole situation unnerved him, what if Talwinne didn’t come back? Of course, the clan was full of hunters who had undergone the same and returned successfully, but they weren’t Talwinne. 

Desperately he wanted to take his mind off the whole thing, a distraction was more than welcome. At present, his primary source of tugging himself from reality was to shove his nose into one of the books his brother would bring him from corpses who no longer needed them or abandoned supply carts. The one he’d chosen this afternoon was an index of herbs, it was, to say the least one of the most useful books his brother had salvaged in his adventures outside the encampment. The book not only held information on flowers and herbs from nearly all parts of Thedas, but it also went into great detail as to what each part of the plants was for, and even provided a sketch of the what the plants might look like. 

He’d seated himself beside his older brother, Fen, for now, while he cared for his knives. Like Talwinne and Darcy, Fen was also a hunter, not born with the same magical abilities as Pelle. The two had only been in contact for the last two years, as Pelle did not meet his brother until the last clan gathering when he was thirteen. By then his brother was already nineteen years old and was already marked with Elgar’Nan’s vallaslin. He’d chosen to stay with Clan Lavellan after their father, Demietre, disowned Pelle in front of everyone. Since then the two brothers had become fast friends, and in time it hardly felt as if they’d been apart for most of their lives. 

“What are you reading?” Asked Fen, never turning from the knife he was cleaning. 

Pelle’s body frail body jolted with alarm at the sound of his brother’s voice. It had been so quiet between the two of them that the sound of Fen speaking had startled him. Slowly he lifted his head from his reading to look at his brother. What had compelled him to start a conversation with Pelle? Most of the time if he saw Pelle reading, he made it a mental note to leave him alone. Most people did actually. 

The younger elf bore a puzzled expression. “You stole this book, didn’t you even look at what it was when you took it from the caravan?” asked Pelle. 

Fen shrugged. “I steal a lot of things, I admit I don’t always pay attention.” 

Pelle sighed, it was a fair response. Though Fen was literate, he rarely used the skill for much more taking down scribbled notes or occasionally helping Pelle study. He wasn’t interested in history and ancient stories the same way his younger brother was. He was absolutely guilty of just seeing a book and giving it to Pelle….that was how Pelle once wound up in possessing a ledger for fine wine.

“It’s an index for herbs,” Pelle answered. “You know the one.”  
“Ah yes! I remember that one.” Fen answered. “Might I make a suggestion? If you’re trying to keep your mind off something perhaps you shouldn’t you shouldn’t read a book you’ve devoured cover to cover several times.”

Pelle raised his brows in surprise. “How did you--?”  
“You never look that stressed when you’re actually reading. You’ve got something on your mind. What is it?” Fen pointed out, and what was worse was he was absolutely right. 

With a huff, Pelle cast his book to the side, what a useless decoy it had been. “It’s about Talwinne.” He began. “Assasn wants him to receive his vallaslin…” 

“Mmm.” Fen hummed, nodding with understanding.

So Fen also knew, how discomforting. “Please tell me you didn’t have anything to do with this…” Pelle begged.  
“No, of course not,” Fen answered him as if that answer were obvious. “But tell me, little brother, why does this concern you so much? You know they wouldn’t even consider it if Talwinne hadn’t proved to Assan that was he was ready to become a real hunter.”

“I know,” Pelle added quickly, the distress in his voice quite clear. “It’s just it seems so sudden. I mean--Talwinne and I both are a bit young to even be thinking about getting our marks. He’s only been shadowing cousin Darcy for a year. What if he isn’t as ready as Assan thinks? What if he runs into the qunari or something? Even you and Durgen avoid those monsters!”

Fen listened to Pelle’s concerns quietly at first, electing not to speak over his little brother until he was certain that he was finished. It was a courtesy much appreciated, as many might not have offered the same manners. Had this been Assan or another of the hunters they would have shut him up quickly, told him not to insult his friend in doubting the decision. Fen had more respect than all of them in understanding that this wasn’t just about Pelle doubting Talwinne’s abilities. He really didn’t want to have to plant a tree in his friend’s honor over some overzealous decision to introduce a premature hunter into the pack. 

“You’re worried about him.” Fen diagnosed. “A natural response. However, I would recommend you express your concern carefully as some may see it you discrediting your friend of his talents for a selfish cause.”

“And why should what they think matter?” Pelle argued. “He’s my closest friend, surely I have a right to worry about him. You know I’d love to cheer him on but this? This just feels wrong.” 

Fen let out a deep breath. “You know Assan wouldn’t just send one of us out to our deaths. He may be strict but he’s not cruel.”

“That’s not true.” Pelle retaliated almost immediately. “Maybe he wouldn’t send you, but you’re not everyone.” 

“I’m not having this conversation with you da’len.” Fen grumbled. “I told you, you can’t take everything Assan says when he’s angry to heart. People say a lot of things they don't mean when they’re angry.” 

“And I told you that’s a load of pig shit!” Pelle snapped back. “If you ask me people speak their truth when they’re angry and use the heat of the moment as a coverup. I’m not stupid brother, I’ve seen the way Assan looks at me. There’s nothing in his eyes that doesn’t tell me he would leave me for out in the wilderness to die if it was his choice.” 

To this, Fen groaned in frustration. “Why must you say such things?” 

“Why shouldn’t I?” Pelle retorted. “If I wasted my time pretending to be in blissful ignorance I would still wake up every day thinking I had a father out there who parted with me because he had no choice, not because he didn’t want me. But that’s not true either is it?” 

He’d angered his brother, he knew it. It was in the way his brown eyes glared at him like small embers in his sockets, the way his lips curled shut because he refused to allow Pelle the satisfaction of being correct. He didn’t believe anyone Pelle’s age should have to bear heavy burdens such as that, and yet here they were. 

“Fine!” Fen conceded in anger. “If you want me to tell you something you want to hear then have this. Assan prides in Talwinne like he does his own children. He thinks Talwinne is gifted beyond that of the other boys his age. If he was really sending Talwinne out to get himself killed, he’d have sooner sent his son Mallas.”

That certainly earned a reaction from Pelle. The young elf’s brows furrowed. “What do you mean...Mallas is his son.” 

“‘I’m not having this discussion with you,” Fen grumbled in response. Pelle might have tried to stop him but his brother was already up on his feet with his knife already returned to its scabbard. The young elf couldn’t even get in another word before his older brother had left conversation leaving Pelle only with more questions.


	5. Pelle

Pelle could say that he didn’t wish to pry--but now that his brother Fen had put it out there...well there would be no satisfying his desire to understand. You couldn’t just say something like that and not expect someone to ask questions. He thought he might ask his eldest cousin, Faolan, the clan’s Hahren, what he knew of it. Not only did him and Faolan share a tent, but he knew that Faolan and Mallas had a special relationship outside of teaching the clan’s children as a collective group. Mallas was his personal pupil--learning to read and write from him. For Mallas, hearing the stories from another tongue had never been enough for him, he wanted to read for himself, to see and understand words with his own eyes. 

It seemed right that Faolan would know if there were to be any disagreeable rumours about Mallas and his father--surely Mallas would have said something to Faolan if there was bad blood between himself and his father. 

“He really said that?” Asked Faolan. 

The young elf had asked the question just before bed, unable to sleep without having answers. Faolan’s surprise was not a scandalized one, though he didn’t believe Faolan had intended for it to be. It instead, led Pelle to believe that he may have been right about his cousin knowing the nature of such a comment.  
He offered a short nod as he worked his fingers through his strawberry curls like a comb. “I don’t suppose you would know what he meant by that?” 

Faolan exhaled deeply, he had a look of discomfort about him, he definitely knew what this was about. “Your brother tends to run his mouth when he’s frustrated…”

“So it’s true then?” Was Pelle’s immediate response. 

Faolan paused, looking over his little cousin with a present frown. There was a lingering premonition that perhaps Faolan did not approve of Pelle pestering him for information, though it wasn’t the first time he had witnessed Faolan acting in such a way. He’d been the same way when Pelle asked him about their real family, the one that rejected him two years ago at the last clan gathering. Though Faolan handled it with grace, this again was a topic that made him squirm, probably because whatever the truth was...it was unpleasant. 

“It wasn’t his place to say but--yes. What he said is true.” Said Faolan, his lip curling with a twinge of disgust even admitting to this. “It might surprise you that our battle master Assan greatly favors Talwinne over Mallas, for a variety of reasons that all boil down to Talwinne matching his ideal child far more than Mallas ever can in his opinion.” 

Hearing Faolan confirm his suspicion created a sinking feeling in the pit of Pelle’s stomach. “But--does he really look at Mallas like that?” 

“I didn’t say it was in good taste,” Faolan added. “But yes, he thinks little of his son, unfortunately.” 

“And you disagree,” Pelle stated for his cousin as if he hadn’t already alluded to it now twice. 

“As a matter of fact, I do,” Faolan confessed. “I think our battle master is small minded. Mallas is a brilliant boy, his father just doesn’t want to hear it unless it’s in a language he understands.”

Pelle stared at his cousin dumbly. “...and that language is…?”

“Folly.” Said Faolan without a second of thought. 

The young mage chose not to answer, even if he agreed it wasn’t really his place to talk down on their battle master. As much as Pelle did not care for him, he was still responsible for leading clan Lavellan’s primary source of food and protection. 

“So…” Pelle began, attempting to make a slight shift in conversation. “If he really does think that highly of Talwinne...then you agree with Fen?”

Faolan shrugged. “Suppose that depends upon what it is we agree? I agree with him that Assan is serious in his intentions. However, I do not support this choice.” 

This seemed to catch Pelle by surprise. So far it seemed that Faolan was the only one on his side unless his reasons were not born from concern. “You’re worried too?” He asked idly.  
“Worried?” Faolan scoffed. “The boy can handle himself. I think he is too young. Capable or not he is fifteen years old. Arguably he shouldn’t even be considered for his marks for a couple more years. Give him them now and he might get a big head--as many young boys do when they’re rewarded for more work than they’ve done.”

Pelle frowned, he wasn’t going to argue with his cousin about this. He should have known better than to expect Faolan to express genuine concern for Talwinne when he seemed so offended by Assan’s lack of appreciation for Mallas.

It seemed he was alone in his concerns after all…

With a deep sigh, Pelle decided to drop the conversation entirely. At least now he would not be kept up all night trying to piece together Fen’s angry words. However, he might lie awake for a time worrying about Talwinne. Besides, if he didn’t...who else would?

“I take it you’re done chastising me?” Faolan remarked. 

Pelle grunted, offering no response. He kept to his hair, finishing with his nightly comb before tying up a loose braid. “I’m going to sleep.” was what he finally chose to say, reaching for single candle that lit their aravel and blowing it out.


	6. Aela

Aela 

 

Talk of Talwinne’s trial to come was constant as if nothing else interesting ever happened around the clan. It was beginning to grow old-now, it already was after the first three days. Now two weeks later even Aela could see that Talwinne’s own excitement about getting his marks was wearing thin. She didn’t blame him really, she couldn’t recall a singular elf who’d received as much attention as Talwinne regarding this. It was because of his age she was sure, even still it shouldn’t have mattered.

She almost felt bad for him, having his ascension into adulthood spoiled by blatant favoritism and his father’s pride in him thanks to his natural talent. It was bad enough to have one father fawning over you, having two must have been downright exhausting. Two weeks ago he was happy to share in their excitement, now anytime someone brought it up Aela could see the young hunter physically frown.

She couldn’t say she could relate, no one had given a rat’s ass when she received her marks. Hers felt more like an obligation because she was of age, not because she’d done anything profound to earn them. The only person who had really congratulated her was Pelle or at least the only one who she believed actually meant it. 

She had made it a mental note to repay his kindness the day he received his, though that probably wouldn’t be for a few more years. While Pelle had just as many useful skills as the next boy his age, they weren’t quite as flashy as Talwinne’s so by default went unnoticed or rather underappreciated. Not that Pelle had ever complained or seemed to notice, but she knew a handful of hunters who might have suffered greater injuries or even died from befallen ailments had Pelle not been around to treat them. 

She really did wish people thanked him more than they did. He certainly deserved it.   
Speaking of that little healer, she certainly missed him right about now. She’d been in the wilds with a pack of hunters for a few days now. Hunting was never a one day trip after all. There was a long list of things that needed to be accomplished before returning to the clan such as: setting traps to retrieve small animals, scouting the area for potential threats or useful supplies like herbs and metals. If they got lucky they may find shemlen caravans with supplies ripe for the picking, Aela loved those days, loved stealing from shems. It made her feel like she was getting back at them for all the horrible things they condemned the Dalish to. 

On the negative side of things, she often felt drained after being out with a pack of hunters for more than a couple of days. Not because the work was particularly exhausting, but because the snide remarks and subtle jabs at her human blood could only be tolerated for so long before they started to get to her. It wasn’t like she could help it, she didn’t tell her mother to run away from home and lay with a shem from the city, yet here she was paying the price for her mother’s actions. 

That was far more exhausting than any hunting she'd ever done.

Even now gathered around the campfire she felt out of place. She watched in silence as her fellow clansmen joked with one another telling stories about old times over roasted rabbits. She knew better than to chime in, she may have had the marks of their people but deep down she knew she would never truly be one of them. She may have grown up with them, learned with them, lived among them, but all most of them saw was a human. 

That was why she chewed on her own rations quietly, respectfully. She may not have been welcome socially, but at least she was allowed to eat. It wasn’t necessarily “good” food, but it was passable. Not like the food Pelle occasionally cooked her back home, but he’d had a little more time to hone that skill thanks to his body being incapable of withstanding very much physical exertion due to his magic. Pelle could really make something out of nothing--but this? This was just a rabbit skinned and charred over a fire by a half-witted huntsman who was better at catching a rabbit than actually preparing it. Even her bread wasn’t in the best condition--but food was food. 

By now she’d managed to drown out the sounds of her fellow clansmen, and focus on the cracking wood under the fire. She shut her eyes, appreciating the warmth touch her brown skin as she did her best to find peace within herself despite the noise around her. 

It was much easier said than done. Her fellow elves could be--quite loud. She withdrew a deep breath opening her eyes just in time to see one of the hunters punch another in the arm while cackling over something he’d said. She didn’t hear, she wasn’t paying attention. 

Maybe she ought to spend some time on her own. She certainly wasn’t going to find the peace she wanted surrounded by these boys. She would not excuse herself, it wasn’t like they cared. She simply stuffed the remainder of her bread in her mouth and gathered her things before wandering down the man-made path of dirt and soiled leaves. Unlike the others, Aela’s eyes did not guide her in the dark, so she carried a lantern with her, lighting the candle behind the glass only when she truly needed to.

It was evenings like this where she would partake in a secret pastime of hers, Dreaming. No one knew about it, of course, about her magic. She kept it secret in order to avoid producing further bait to have her thrown out. One elven mage with a close connection with the Fade was bad enough in most clans, two would be unacceptable. Besides, she liked to keep it secret. No one could tell her how or what to dream of, what was right or wrong. It was like a free escape from her waking life, to not only get away from people who did not accept her--but she also had the benefit of seeing things no ordinary man could see when he closed his eyes. 

The real question was...where did she wish to go today? Usually, it was the old remnants of ruins near the camp, but she was too far for that today. No matter, she would search for someplace new. Anything beat hanging around with those hunters.

Technically she should not have been wandering alone in the night, though she doubted anyone would be missing her unless they needed a body bag to toss in front of an unexpected threat. She could handle herself should something arise. Unlike her fellow Dalish, most humans did not feel inclined to murder her, rather they wished to free her from elven captivity. It was preposterous of course. Her? A prisoner to the Dalish? As if such a thing was even possible. 

She stuck to their chosen path, if anyone asked she was merely scouting ahead. As much as he did not care for her company, she did not truly have a deathwish. Though confident in her own ability to defend herself, her grandmother the Keeper always warned of wandering too deep into the forest at night. One might find things you didn't know existed until it is too late, that was what she always said, and though their relationship was not a strong one she would take that advice from her grandmother if any. 

She wandered idly for some time only stopping when she heard something under her boot that she quickly recognized to be crunching of bones. In the forest, it would have been completely understandable for her to have written it off as nothing. There was fauna everywhere, and animals died everyday. But typically they did not die in an undeniable pattern with their remains making what could almost be described as a guided path. 

Her interest was undoubtedly piqued. 

She crouched to get a better look at the bones underfoot and was surprised to find them coated with a strange substance. An ichor of sorts. The smell was rotten, though the stench from the ichor deviated from the classic smell of rotting animal flesh. This was much worse.

She retched, throwing her hand from her face as if she’d held it to a flame. Her eyes stung as tears rolled down her cheeks. What in Mythal’s name had murdered these rabbits? There was something in her that was afraid to find out, but the huntress in her who vowed to protect her people told her that finding the end of this rabbit path was the only choice she had. 

Should she return to camp and collect her fellow hunters before setting out? Could she even convince them to come? She doubted it really. If she were to come back and tell them she’d found a path of dead rabbits they might even laugh at her, tell her she was paranoid. She would most likely end up walking back only to return here alone. She had to go herself, right now. 

The huntress inhaled deeply. She looked back one last time before turning to see the path ahead. She was really doing this--  
“Mythal guide me…”She whispered before she took her first step into the unknown.


	7. Aela

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning for gore, disturbing images, and mention of pedophilia

Aela 

The further Aela wandered this path, the more she wondered was it truly wise to go it alone. Nothing had disturbed her yet, but she did not have the eyes her elven companions possessed. She could not see into the night, and as a result, would never know if someone was watching her beneath the shadows of the trees. Her torch could only light her path so far, the forest around her was not a part of that. 

The path of rabbits was soon joined with larger prey: fennecs, nugs, even halla. Her stomach turned just thinking about what the poor creatures must have endured having become part of some trail to death. What worried her, even more, as if the prey kept getting bigger, would the animals become elves eventually? She really hoped not. 

Another unsettling thing she noticed was the way the forest grew completely silent and yet...felt alive to her. While she could not place the source she knew something--or someone was watching her. Whether it was an animal, qunari, or something more sinister she did not know. But she didn’t like it. She didn’t feel safe. 

The feeling was foreign to her. As both a huntress and a dreamer she felt that she was self-aware of the world around at almost all times. She could track almost any beast and take them down just as easily. She had little concern of humans thanks to the arrangement made with the nearby village, and anything supernatural like spirits had proven to be kinder to her than most people she knew back home. It was rare for her to feel threatened by much of anything. In fact, she found so much comfort in the spirits that she wished she could stay with them and never awaken.   
The trail of animals led her to a cave that gave off a crimson glow. She was pleased to see that the prey leading to her destination did not evolve into people--or at least not yet they hadn’t. That being said she didn’t get her hopes up. Whatever was inside the cave in front of her left her with a sense of dread that she could not explain. Something inside her told her it was for the best if she just turned around now, but what if what lay inside followed her out? Better to know what was out there than to feign ignorance. 

One deep breath later she took her first step inside. The dread that tugged at her only grew stronger once all of her was basking in the glow. Was it fear that caused her heart to sink to her stomach? Or was it the inclination that she knew what she was doing was wrong, that whatever had led her there was nothing to be trifled with? Regardless, she was filled with dangerous curiosity, the type of curiosity that only fright could conceive. The type that made you wander towards certain peril if only to identify it. 

The carcass trail never did end, but they bore new features within the cave. Crystals, deep red like the cave’s glow protruding from their bodies, mostly from the eyes. She’d never seen such crystals, never in person at least. Pelle had books back home that bore similar resemblance, but those crystals were blue...said to grow underground if she remembered his lessons. 

So what were these? And why did they grow from the fauna? 

In fact, it wasn’t just this fauna. The deeper she wandered the more the crystals had seemed to infect the cave. It was in the walls, hanging from the roofs like stalactites, spreading across the floor like veins.   
She was no expert, but she had begun to suspect that magic was at play. Why else could a location make her feel so much with no logical explanation. They were just crystals, nothing more. So why did they make her want to believe there was something evil about them? 

In a dead-end of the cave she found what must have been the heart of whatever this infection was. Much to her dismay, her hopes of not finding a person were gone. There lay what was left of what she could only guess was a soldier. His armor bore the heraldry of the Grey Wardens, but whoever he used to be had been long erased by the crystal infection. The red gems much like the animals had speared through his eyes. However, unlike the fauna, the crystals had made their way through the rest of him as well. It stuck out of his chest, colonized onto his arms and one of his legs. It had nearly consumed him, if she had to take a guess he would be one with it soon. 

Aela held back the urge to gag, it was horrendous the warden’s remains. Still, she felt that maybe she ought to bring a sample of what had consumed him back to the clan. Give it to either Pelle or Deshanna to take a look at it. If it was magic perhaps they would know what to make of it. 

She figured the crystals in his eyes would be the easiest to remove. She just needed to wedge her knife into his socket and push against his skull until it was removed. The process was foul, bloody, and far from pleasant, still she persisted. The impulse to retch and empty her stomach was strong, but she couldn’t. It wasn’t like she’d never seen a corpse before. 

She’d just never forced a man’s eye from his skull…  
It didn’t feel any better once it was in her hands. Never had she been more thankful for her leather gloves. She would keep it in her pack, better the other hunters didn’t know she was carrying this around. She would show Pelle once she was back home. 

She stood to her feet to leave the wretched cave, she’d gotten all she needed from it for now. But when she turned around she learned she was no longer alone…

The figure in front of her said nothing, only stared at her own silence. If she didn’t know any better she might even think it bore no conscious. It wasn’t a spirit, no she would have known if it was. This creature had plum skin, with two horns stretching from his temple like a qunari. His garb was the most provocative thing Aela had ever seen on a man’s body. Golden jewelry adorning his collar and nipples. He wore little else than his gold save for a silken scarf that concealed any genitalia he might have had. 

He was...beautiful if she were to be plain, still, something felt off. 

“...hello?” Her voice lacked confidence and barely carried into the air. She doubted this creature heard her.

“He--” “Hello…” She’d begun to try again before she was cut off by the creature’s greeting.   
His voice sent a chill down her spine. Much unlike his appearance, there seemed little sinister about the way he spoke. The pitch of his voice was deep, much deeper than any of the elves back home. It was...enticing. She wanted to hear it again. 

But she didn’t answer him. She was too caught up staring, trying to identify what he was. Whatever he was he wasn’t from this world, or at least she didn’t think he was. 

“Frightened?” Asked the creature, a smirk creeping on his lips. 

She stared at him dumb for a moment before answering him. “I...I don’t know. Should I be..? Are you going to hurt me?” 

The creature laughed at her, “No,” He answered. “That is unless that is what you desire.” 

“Ah...I um..” She was searching for something to say, but words had all but abandoned her. 

“But you don’t want that do you?” He pressed on for her. “You want me to step aside so you can go scampering off to those miserable ingrates of yours hm?” 

“I mean...sort of--wait.” She paused. “You mean the hunters? But how did you..?”

He grinned. “I know many things,” he told her. 

“...do you...do you live here?” Aela inquired.

“No,” said the creature. “But it is beautiful isn’t it?” 

“I….I suppose it is? Whatever it is.” She hardly meant it, the cave made her uncomfortable. Though if she were to ignore all but aesthetic appearance she could not deny that the crystals weren’t pretty. 

“I’m sorry but if you don’t live here, then what are you doing here? What even are you?” Aela asked. 

“You don’t know?” He said tossing the question right back. 

“I don’t.” She admitted. 

His grin only widened upon hearing this confession. She drew in a sharp breath when he began sauntering closer towards her. She should have backed up, but she didn’t. There was something about this creature that left her frozen in place, helpless to whatever was to unfold. If this was the part where she brutally murdered then so be it, there was no one to save her anyway. 

But he did not harm her, instead, he closed her eyes with two fingers and whispered into her ear his hot breath against her skin. “Perhaps you would like to find out?” 

Suddenly she was not in the cave any longer. She was home, standing in front of the fragmented mirror that sat in the corner of her home with Keeper Deshanna. She looked upon herself, but something wasn’t the same about her. She was much shorter than she knew herself to be, thinner too. Her eyes were big and round like the elven girls back home, and her ears, Mythal her ears were long and pointed like everyone else’s. She didn’t even know why but the sight brought tears to her eyes. She wanted so badly to force them back but her tears had other plans. Her fingers rested against her reflection as she stared into her own eyes. She couldn’t look away from herself, she was beautiful. Far more than she had ever been in a human body. 

The only thing that distracted her from herself was a pair of thin arms wrapping around her wait followed by someone smothering their face against her neck caressing her skin with their lips. She didn’t have to look back to see who it was, what little of him she could see in the mirror was clear. It was wrong, what she was seeing. Still, she had craved it, she would be lying if she said she hadn’t fantasized about it. 

She shouldn’t have fantasized about running her fingers through his strawberry curls, leaving small pecks against every freckle on his body, or hold onto him on cold nights, kiss his little pink lips. It was all wrong, nothing right about it. She was nearly twenty years old, an adult by all means. He was fifteen years old, and as far as she was concerned too innocent to taint. 

Twisted as it was the image tempted her…  
She turned around to face the elf behind, guiding his hands to hold her by the waist. She smiled at him, tucking a tuft of curls behind his ears that he’d yet to grow into. He smiled back at her, his eyes never breaking contact with hers. It felt like they could have stood there forever.

Except that they couldn’t.

And just like that, she was back in the cave…  
She was alone now. No creatures to sprinkle fantasies into her mind. Just Aela, the dead warden, and a creepy cave that she needed to get out of as soon as possible. She shook her head, trying to allow reality to reset itself.

What... just happened?   
She had no answers. What she did have was a sample of the strange crystal. She would give it to Pelle to look at. She trusted him far more than her grandmother anyways.


	8. Mallas

Mallas

 

Why did the fish have to blend in with the stream so much? It was frustrating, trying to fish when his eyes couldn’t tell the fish and the algae. He stood at the edge of the river with his arrow pointed at a fish he couldn’t even see. Mallas squinted, trying to separate all the colors that all looked the same to him. There was a fish in there, he saw it just moments ago. He’d resolved himself to catch it, cut it up and bring it home for his mother. Except now his eyes...they were failing him once again. 

Why had Andruil cursed him with eyes like his? He felt that he couldn’t see things that truly mattered. Not even just the fish, there was so much. How was he supposed to become a good hunter when his eyes were always playing tricks on him? 

He stared at the water a while longer before he conceded, tossing his bow into the grass and plopping onto the ground with a loud groan. He tore at the grass, pulling it from the dirt as he began to brood. 

He would bet his supper that Durgen would have no problem shooting the damned thing. Durgen was better at everything. He made better traps, he was a better shot, he was a better tracker. There was nothing that Mallas could do that Durgen couldn’t do better. Everyone knew it too. That was why their father, Assan, never seemed to stop praising his brother. 

He really wished he’d been born a mage like Sibs. Sibs probably had it so good. He didn’t have to worry about living in the shadow of a prodigy. Mythal, Pelle was a prodigy himself, just with books and magic. Mallas wished he was good at books too, but the words never came out the way they should...either that or they were all forming into one big blurry image. He was probably dumb, Durgen had taken all the intelligence for himself. Just like he’d taken all the other redeeming qualities. 

The grass was such an innocent victim to his frustration, but that didn’t stop him from ripping it from the earth with such vigor that his nails were always filthy by the time he was bored with it. And they were, his fingernails truly disgusting. His mother would surely beg him to scrub them when he returned home empty-handed again. 

He looked back to the river, at all the fish that were probably swimming just past his realm of vision. Maybe if he just...maybe he needed a new angle. He couldn't point and shoot them, but who said he couldn’t crawl in there and fish around with his hands until he grabbed hold of one? He really didn’t want to come back unsuccessful. He’d told his mother he was going fishing, he was going to bring back the biggest fish she’d ever seen. If he was smart he’d have brought some bait, maybe even a fishing rod, But no--he brought his bow and some arrows. 

Not his brightest idea.

But that didn’t really matter anymore. Mallas had resorted to rolling up his trousers and bursting into the river his hands searching for anything that felt like a fish with the grace of a drunken nug. His green eyes darted back and forth from one place to another, his senses feeling a little overwhelmed by the slime plants that brushed against his hands as his real prey slipped past him time and time again.   
He was in a frenzy. He must have looked mad to any unlucky bystander with the way he was wandering is clumsy circles his arms flailing to keep up with his overwhelming desire to find something to grab hold of. 

It wasn’t until he heard his name called out many times by a familiar voice before his frenzied dance stopped. He froze in place his head snapping towards the voice. It didn’t surprise him to find Faolan standing at the edge of the river watching him. If he had to take a guess his mother had sent Faolan to retrieve him since she herself could not. 

Faolan was removing his cloak a look of concern riddled all over his long face. He ushered Mallas out of the water holding the cloak out to him, urging him to put it on. At first, Mallas didn’t move, he only stood staring stupidly at Faolan trying to figure out why he looked so worried. He wasn’t hurt, he wasn’t missing, there was no reason for him to look like that.

Except that Mallas was soaked to the skin from his hair right down to his smalls. Now that he stood still his body had time to realize that he ought to be cold in the autumn air. He gave a violent shiver before finally crawling from out of the water empty-handed just as he’d feared. 

“What in Mythal’s bosoms gotten into you?” Asked Faolan wasting no time to wrap his cloak around Mallas’ chilled frame. 

“I was...fishing,” Mallas explained though he knew it sounded ludicrous after the display he’d put on. “Did my mum send you?” 

“Actually no,” Faolan replied. “I heard someone out by the river hollering and felt that required my attention.”

“Wait, I was hollering?” Mallas hardly believed it. Had he really been making that much noise? 

Faolan nodded. “Thought you were shouting at someone, imagine my concern when I found you yellin at the water.” 

“I was talkin to the fish hahren…” Mallas clarified. “They were slippery, fallin out my hands and stuff.”

Faolan offered a knowing nod, but Mallas knew that Faolan had never charged at a river and tried to snatch the fish right from the water. Faolan was smart people, Faolan would have brought a fishing rod. But not Mallas, it was like his father said, he didn’t think things through. 

“That’s not the only reason I’m here though,” Faolan added. “I wanted to ask you something.”

“Like what?” asked Mallas almost immediately but Faolan gently shushed him.  
“I want to talk to you somewhere a little more private if you don’t mind. But first, you’re getting out of those wet clothes. Come back to my hut, I’m sure Pelledir’s clothes will fit you just fine for now.”

“I can’t just go home first?” Mallas suggested.   
“Won’t your mother ask questions?” Faolan reminded him. He knew Mallas well, and he knew the last thing Mallas wanted to do was tell his mother how he’d gotten to be so wet.

“...Sibs clothes it is.” He said tugging Faolan’s cloak closer to his body.


End file.
